Childhood Story: My First Time

Mixing alcohol with other shit is bad
At 17 years old I thought I was in love with the person I was with. Unfortunately, it was just not the right fit, despite both of us “trying” to make it work. The first time we broke up, I took it really hard. So, what did I do about it? I did what every other 17-year-old did: got shit wasted with friends.

My cousin, we’ll call her B, was a few years older than me and our families lived in the same 2 story house. I think that’s a duplex? Townhouse? IDK but that’s not the important part! B saw this relationship of mine from the hot beginning to the milk-curdled-end so she was there for everything that happened. Being heartbroken, I thought going on a month-long binge would be the best way to “stop feeling” so I hit up B, who was notoriously infamous for her bottomless alcohol and amazing way of rarely having a hangover. I didn’t know my limits yet but felt invincible, just like every other clueless teenager – completely unaware of the dangers of dying from alcohol poisoning.

One afternoon, I had told my parents B and I would be going to a double movie showing and we’d be gone for a while… we saw A LOT of movies at that time. We had went to B’s friend’s place where we, undoubtedly, drank the cheapest malt liquor we could get our underage hands on. At one hazy, spinning moment, I remember sitting on the floor, rubbing my face, and dropping my hand on top of a dumb bell which should have hurt but I felt nothing. This was great! This is what I wanted! I’m drinking, having a good time, not feeling any physical or emotional pain. Then someone, I honestly cannot recall who, decided to shake things up and bring out something else. Don’t worry, it was nothing you had to prepare, cook, shoot up, or swallow. It was something that was easier to score, even in our own school, so I partook.

There I was: drunker than a sailor at a port call and flying into clouds of cotton candy. I was WREKD, to say the least. We had all gotten hungry and decided to search for food. I remember walking into the store and having to order through a bullet proof, two-way sliding, double glass window. I cannot make this shit up. Not only was this clear vault like contraption made to speak through without getting shot at but when he gave me my order, one of those inch thick glass doors had a small hinge where he would slide the small box of food out. I think it’s safe to say he had a shotgun behind that counter with him if anyone tried to steal money… or fried chicken. He was ready and no one was going to steal from the register… or kitchen, not on his shift anyway!

By the time I inhaled my more-than-precious-than-gold chicken balls, my fucked up vibe was finally settling. We all ate and decided it was time to go home. I don’t remember walking down stairs, opening any doors, or getting in the car but since I was the youngest in the group, I was still feeling something while everyone else seemed to either be sober or at least coming down. I remember B turning around and asking, “Munchy,” my childhood name, “you good?” I confidently replied I was good – I was not good. I was about 10 blocks away from being good. We reached our destination and hopped out the car. B and I stumbled out and while she stood straight up, ready to continue the night, I immediately caught the spins. Normally, I enjoy lying down and riding out the spins but this was different. These spins came with chicken balls, french fries and whatever 40z of cheap malt liquor I gulped down. Like a duck walking sideways, I hobbled over to the side of the building while B proclaimed, “I’m proud of you! I’m surprised you didn’t throw up!” That was game over… like… Mario you-done-underestimated-that-jump-and-died game over.

That was it: I leaned over and threw up all the beer I had ingested. I clearly remember it was just the beer, no shot-gun protected chicken balls or french fries – just clear liquid.

That was the K.O. of the night. After that, we went home where I snuggled into my warm, happy bed that cradled the bitch of a headache the morning after. That was the first last time I binged on alcohol… underaged… and over a boy… but at least I learned my limit!